


Sigh

by shiftylinguini



Series: Bound [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Sirius Black, Comfort Sex, Complete, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mates, OOTP Compliant, Part 4 of Wolfstar Lives AU, Past Hogwarts-era Sirius/Remus, Reference to the Veil, Remus Lupin Lives, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sirius Black Lives, Soulmates, Top Remus Lupin, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini
Summary: “You can’t just burst into my home, Sirius.” Remus’s voice quavers, even though he’s trying so hard to keep it even. Sirius can see he’s exhausted, his face pale and his eyes bright atop heavy, tired bruises. He wonders how long it’s been since he properly slept. Not last night, he won't have, but maybe not the night before either, or the night before that.“Would you have let me in?”Remus’s silence speaks volumes. Sirius spreads his hands as if in victory.





	Sigh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mugi_says_eep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugi_says_eep/gifts).



> Fourth, and (probably? Haha) final, part of [Bound](http://archiveofourown.org/series/705045) (at least, I'm pretty sure it will be)! 
> 
> Giant thanks to everyone who's been reading along! It seems only fitting this installment of this series should go to someone whose comments inspired me to write the second installment in the first place <3

*

The air is cold, the early morning chill just bitter enough to sting, and Sirius stands at Remus's unremarkable doorstep. 

His arms are pulled around his waist, leather collar flipped up slightly to shield his neck, and there’s something that feels like trepidation stirring in his stomach. It feels a little like excitement, a lot like dread; he hasn't seen Remus in weeks. It's not the longest he's gone without though, Sirius thinks with a bitter smile. 

Sirius stomps his feet, pulls his collar up even higher still. He resists the urge to transform, but he can feel the dog nipping at his proverbial heels, pulling at the tails of his shirt. It's tempting, and then some. He would much rather be Padfoot right now, to feel the comfort of familiar black fur and an animal mind, but that would be hiding, and he’s not doing that tonight. He’s not going to bloody let Remus keep doing it either. 

Sirius inhales sharply as he raises his hand to knock, but something stops him. He looks at his fist, poised and ready to rap at the door, and he smiles, dry and without humour. There’s no way Remus is going to let him in, not with the current status quo, not while Remus is licking his wounds and hiding from the world, metaphorically and now literally. The moon was full last night, and today Remus will be tired, sore, his body aching and joints creaking like an old ship as his mind tries to remember who ― what ― he is. Remus won’t want to see Sirius like this, not now. Sirius’s lips twist into something between a smile and a sneer. _Well bad luck, Moony_ , he thinks. _I’m a persistent arsehole, and I'm coming in_. 

And after all, Sirius tells himself as he forcefully Apparates inside with a crack, feeling the wards tremble as he barges through, who needs to use the door, anyway? 

Remus lives in a shithole, is the first thing Sirius thinks as he lands in the living room. 

Sirius has thought this before, many times. The flat is not dirty, it’s not unkempt, but it’s falling apart at the seams, wallpaper peeling and garden overcome with weeds and neglect. The living room has always seemed to have the worst of it, large sections of drywall exposed. Sirius has just long enough to assess that Remus has really, truly let this place go to, before he’s staring down the length of Remus’s wand. 

“Hello, old friend,” he says, aiming for friendly. It comes out dry and almost sarcastic, the smirk heavy in his tone, and Sirius internally shrugs. _That’ll have to do_ , he supposes. 

Remus’s hand is unsteady, his wand shaking as he glares. 

“What are you doing here?” he croaks, and his voice sounds even worse than he looks. His face is pale, and lined with lack of sleep. He looks his age, and then some, and Sirius suddenly wants to kiss him, to kiss the lines by his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Remus would probably slap him if he tried right now. Sirius wants to do it anyway, perhaps even moreso knowing he shouldn't. 

“I missed you,” Sirius deadpans, unable to stop himself from rising to Remus’s bait. That’s what they do, he thinks. They bait and bait and bait, and then pause, then it’s rinse, repeat, and bait again. He wonders if Remus is as tired of it as he is. Sirius sighs, pushing Remus’s wand aside. 

“Get that out of my face, yeah?” he says gently. “There’s no need for wands.”

“You can’t just burst into my home, Sirius.” Remus’s voice quavers, even though he’s trying so hard to keep it even. Sirius can see he’s exhausted, his face pale and his eyes bright atop heavy, tired bruises. He wonders how long it’s been since he properly slept. Not last night, he won't have, but maybe not the night before either, or the night before that. 

“Would you have let me in?”

Remus’s silence speaks volumes. Sirius spreads his hands as if in victory. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Remus says, and Sirius could almost laugh. 

“Why, don't you want me round?” Sirius tilts his head forwards, searching Remus's expression. “Haven't missed me at all?”

Remus swallows, then it's silence again, and this time it’s deafening. Sirius knew Remus wouldn't answer that, and he can't tell if he’s relieved Remus isn't lying about missing him or if he’s just exhausted, drained to his core, that Remus still can’t even fucking say _that_ out loud. 

“So, what, is this some kind of...” Sirius looks around at Remus’s sad and untidy flat, then back at his bleak face. “Some kind of penitence?” Sirius asks, not bothering to hide the sneer. His accent always gets sharper when he’s pissed off, the words sliding into a drawl. The crisp sound of it reminds him of his mother, his brother; that only makes him sneer harder, this time a confused and bitter self-loathing joining the disdain for Remus Lupin and the distance he insists on keeping between them. Now, then, bloody _always_. Sirius is so sick of it he wants to throw up. 

“Fuck you,” Remus whispers hoarsely. “You have no idea ―" He breaks off, shaking his head, and Sirius snorts, his anger rising. He’s done with that line, with all of Remus’s lines. He wants to yell and rage, suddenly, to scream that he’s had enough of being sidelined in this story, of being told that he doesn’t fucking get it. He’s got it from day one, has more of an idea than Remus would like to admit. 

“I had a visitor today,” Sirius says, voice pitched low. Remus turns away, scrubbing an unsteady hand through his thick hair. 

“That’s lovely, Sirius,” Remus snaps distractedly, picking up bits and pieces of the room’s detritus, shuffling them around. He’s barefoot, wearing only black pyjama bottoms and a dark t-shirt. There’s a bruise on his forearm, another on his bicep, but they don’t look so bad, not compared to the scars. Those are old, and as Sirius looks at them he feels some of his anger bleed away. Remus has been collecting those scars since Sirius first met him, since before that even. Sirius knows them all, knows the one just above Remus’s hip, knows those that slice across his back, and the thin scratches low on his belly. Sirius could track their shared history based on those scars alone, and his heart aches a little at the thought of it, at the reminder of how much he’s missed the feel of Remus’s body against his. 

Remus stops suddenly, Sirius’s words properly sinking in. Sirius thinks he can tell the exact moment Remus realised who has visited him.

“Oh, god,” Remus says roughly. His voice is almost resigned, quiet, his shoulders sagging. Whatever remnant of a fight he’d been carrying seems gone, now. “Sirius,” he starts, but he doesn’t say anything more, just exhales, still facing away. 

“I know I told you to make a choice. But I never thought you’d leave both of us,” Sirius mutters quietly, and it’s true. Remus makes a sound, a little like a dry laugh, a choke, a sob. 

“Sirius,” he says again, turning around this time. He’s thinner than when Sirius last saw him, the line of his collarbone more prominent and almost jarring. “I was going to,” he says, his voice a low whisper. “I was going to choose, and then. She went into labour. That fucking night, right after...right after I left yours." Remus licks his lips, his eyes a little feverish, the moon’s glow still in them. “And I couldn’t. I just. He’s so small.” Remus brushes a shaking hand through his hair again, looks down at the floor almost plaintively. “He's so small," he repeats. "And then she left. And I was relieved. _Relieved_ ,” he repeats, his voice full of sorrow and self loathing. “I’ve fucked this all up so much, Sirius, you have to see." Remus finally meets Sirius's eyes. "I don’t deserve…”

“Me?” Sirius croaks

“Yes!” Remus replies frantically. “Not you, or her, or Te ―” He stops, face screwing up miserably. He presses a palm over his mouth. 

“What do you deserve then, Moony?”

“Nothing!” he spits, sudden and furious. “I deserve _nothing_ , Sirius.” 

Sirius can barely see around the rush of anger, of white and desperate rage in him, at that .

“Well fuck you,” he hisses back, tears stinging his eyes. “Because I don’t deserve that.” He shakes his head, hair whipping at the tops of his shoulders. “I don’t fucking deserve nothing!”

“Sirius, that’s not ―”

“Piss off!” he snarls, shoving Remus, _hard_. “It’s not my fault I… None of this is my fault. You want to punish yourself, fine, but stop punishing me for ―” He breaks off unable to finish. He doesn't want to know what’s at the end of that sentence, which ‘this’ he’s referring to. _It’s not my fault that I went to prison, that I stopped trusting you, that I died_. He thinks in some terrified part of him that some of it is his fault, though, that maybe he doesn't deserve anything, any reprieve, either. He knows there are some deaths that are on his hands, and the knowledge is hollow and acidic inside him. Sirius doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to think about what blood Remus imagines is on his own hands. 

He knows that will drive them both mad.

“I’m sorry,” Remus mutters, unexpectedly, and it surprises Sirius. He’s expecting a fight, was braced for more biting words, but this is different. Remus's lips tilts up into a small smile, but his eyes are shining, pained. “Why do you put up with me, Sirius?” It’s almost a joke, or it would have been, if Remus hadn’t whispered it, if he didn't look like he was ready to drop on the spot.

Sirius’s chest aches. 

“Heart of a dog, mate,” Sirius says quietly, wryly. “I’m fucking loyal. Turf me out, and I’ll whine at your door.” He steps closer. “I get the feeling you know what that feels like, though. That _tug_.” He tightens his fist in Remus’s t-shirt, sees him swallow, his jaw clench. “You're stuck with me, yeah?”

Sirius waits, standing almost toe to toe with Remus, for his reply, but Remus says nothing. Instead, he slowly wraps his arms around Sirius, one and then the other. Remus's embrace isn't tight, isn't fierce, the tension in his body warring with the exhaustion, and Sirius doesn't know how to react. Remus drops his head to Sirius’s shoulder and it seems so defeated, resigned, but when Sirius feels Remus inhale deeply, nose pressed almost against his throat in a way Remus has done countless times before, he thinks it might be something else. 

“I'm so tired,” Remus murmurs desperately into Sirius's neck, the words whistling past his teeth, and it's so much like he used to be, that exhausted boy who would crawl into Sirius’s bed after an agonising night under the moon. _'I'm so tired, Padfoot. Can I get in with you?'_. Sirius swallows, the emotion sudden and thick, as palpable as the memory that brings it. He used to hold Remus then, let him sleep until he felt human again. They’ve drifted so far away from that, but Sirius decides, sudden and fierce, that he can do that again now. There’s no four poster anymore, no quiet dorm room. The thick canopy of red above them, the warm blankets and the safety they brought are long gone, but they’re still here. Sirius is still here, even though he doesn't remember half of where he's been, and he can bloody take care of Remus.

“Come on then, old man,” Sirius croaks, then clears his throat. “Come sleep,” he says, and he wants to sound calm, but it sounds more imploring than anything else. He thinks Remus will protest, will move away as Sirius threads a tentative hand into his hair, but he doesn’t. He lets Sirius pull him towards his bedroom, and Sirius lets out a shaking breath. 

They haven't done this in years, slept together, and Sirius almost isn't sure if they can. The depth of things unsaid, the things that choke them before they can find a voice, feels heavy enough to smother them, but then again. Sirius has fallen through Veils and into death and then crawled back out. He can put his beautiful friend ― his only and oldest ― to bed, he tells himself. Still, when Remus lays down on his side, facing the wall, and Sirius stands by the edge, with his back to him. He doesn’t know if he should stay, if he should go now that this is done. Tonks was wrong; taking care of people isn't easy. He doesn't know how to do this.  
He doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing here, in Remus’s dark bedroom in the aftermath of last night’s moon. 

“Remus,” Sirius starts, but he stops when Remus speaks.

“I thought my heart would break,” Remus says, abruptly. “I thought maybe it did break. When you died.” 

His voice is thin, hollow, and Sirius can't see his face, not when he’s on his side, turned away. Sirius blinks, shocked. Remus never speaks about that. _They_ never speak about that. 

“It felt like it had ripped, bloody and raw, in half. Right here,” Remus turns onto his back, rubs at his sternum with the heel of his palm, “it felt like it had _ripped_.” He shakes his head, a barely noticeable, twitching movement. “I couldn't breathe. Shock kept me moving, kept the blood pumping inside me, but I could feel…could _feel_ the bloody valves and jagged arteries, that everything was torn and broken and _wrong_ , and I ―” He inhales shakily, his voice getting quieter and quieter, and more desperate. “I couldn't breathe. When you, when Peter and you and then you were gone, at least you were alive. That cut like a knife, god that fucking sliced me open, and the anger and the betrayal were white hot and fierce, but you were _alive_ , and.” He laughs and it's a wet, choke of a sound. “I could live off the anger, if nothing else, and when that ebbed away, well then I just… lived. One foot in front of the other, until it almost looked natural. It never healed, but at least that wound scabbed over long before you came back. And then you fucking came back,” another wet, choked sound. It could be a laugh, something more desperate, but it hits Sirius hard. He sits down on the bed, back to Remus and stares down at the wearing, carpeted floor. 

He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Remus cry. After the prank, with furious rage, and then again after he saw the stag and the dog and the rat, with uncontrollable happiness. Sirius feels stunned into silence, white noise buzzing in his veins as the horror of his own death settles over him. He can feel his eyes prickling with hot, surprised tears. They sting, blur his vision. 

“Remus,” he says, but nothing more. He has no other words, not that fit. He wants to be Padfoot. He wants to sit on the end of the bed, ears flat and eyes wide and lick the salt from Remus’s skin, his hands and cheeks. He wants to whimper his apologies, to cower and beg, he wants Remus’s words to blur and distort through the filter of Padfoot’s ears until he can’t understand them, can't hear them. He doesn't want to be a man anymore. 

“When you came back from prison, it was like you’d never gone. I felt… everything we had before, I felt it again. Years of getting by without you, of listening to the wolf howl your name at the sky, and now it was singing for you. It forgave you so much sooner than I did, never hated you for Azkaban. Maybe it knew you better than I did, knew you could never have,” Remus stops, swallowing thickly. “I should have known it, too, but it hurt. The anger was easier,” he laughs again, bitterly, and it's full of self loathing. 

Sirius hates the sound of it, hates knowing Remus spent so long thinking he was a murderer, hates remembering those years in that cage. He never thought of Remus while he was there, never wanted those decaying leeches to suck those memories out of him. But Padfoot did, thought about running far and fast under moonlight, about the taste of the air on his tongue and the wolf by his side. 

“I never stopped. I’ve never… There’s never been anyone else, not like you, like this, and I missed you so fucking much.” Another choked sound, a laboured intake of breath. “I never _stopped_ ,” he repeats, and it's as close to an admission of what Remus feels for him as they’ve ever come. 

Sirius shuts his eyes, feels the tears track hot and unwelcome down his cheeks. His hand is shaking, fingers trembling as he folds them over his chin, his mouth, as if he can hold the sob inside. _Shut your eyes, cover your mouth, wait ‘til it stops hurting_. He’s been doing that for years. It's never really worked. 

_Remus_ , he tries to say again through his fingers, but it's only a broken shape of a word. He doesn't want to know this, can’t stand hearing it. He thinks this is why they never talk, why they only fuck and fight and bite and snarl now, and sometimes, in the briefest of detentes, why they let a smile slip through. There’s a minefield between them, around them, that isn't just full of blame and betrayal and anger ― no, it's full of memories, of laughter, of grief and longing and _love_ , and that? Sirius squeezes his eyes shut tighter, clamps his lips together and exhales harshly through his nose. That feels so much fucking worse. 

“But when you fell. It wasn't like Azkaban,” Sirius hears the bed shift, Remus sitting up against the headboard. His voice is so quiet still, and Sirius can’t turn around. One arm around his middle, one hand around his mouth, like he’s holding himself in one piece, only he knows it isn't working. He’s spilling over the sides, his pulse racing and his cheeks hot. There’s a thump in his head, the thud of his heart jarring and he can’t breath properly, long intervals falling between inhale, exhale. He wants to run. He wants to flee on four legs with tail lowered and eyes white with fear, to find somewhere safe and hide in the dark. It hurts, and he wants to _run_. 

“I couldn't even bury you.”

Sirius feels it like a wave. It doesn't hit him fast, or loud, but creeps up behind him, slow and heavy, before crashing into him, rolling over his back and filling his ears. 

“Sirius? Are you ―”

With his eyes closed and his shaking fingers over his mouth, he slumps forewords, trying to breathe, but the sob stutters out of him. He gasps in another gulp of air, but it shakes out of him on a wounded, ugly sound, and beneath the litany of _no no no no_ in his head, he feels everything come undone. 

“Sirius, hey, hey, shit.” Sirius feels the bed as Remus moves closer, a hand hovering over his back, and he hunches forwards, out of reach. 

“Don't,” he manages, hard and ugly through his tears, and he doesn't know what he’s asking for. _Don't touch me. Don't come near me. Don't forgive me. Don't leave me alone_. He can't stop crying, shuddering, awful sobs, and it only gets louder when Remus presses closer. He starts with one hand on Sirius’s shoulder, the other on his back, and then his legs coming to rest on either side of Sirius, knees bracketing him. 

“Shh, Sirius,” Remus says, almost inaudible under the sounds Sirius is making, and shame runs through him, snapping at the heels of misery. He’s folded almost double with the weight of it, his hand still over his mouth and barely muffling the noise, and Remus slowly, gently, pulls him up against his chest. “Shh,” he croons again, and his voice is hoarse, quavering. He’s trying to comfort, not to quiet, one hand smoothing Sirius’s hair back, but Sirius let's it falls forwards. His hand is wet with tears, saliva, his chest tight, and Remus wraps an arm around his waist, over the arm Sirius has clamped tightly there. 

“I'm sorry,” Remus whispers, soft and sincere and Sirius shakes his head frantically, the words not even forming in his head. He doesn't want to hear sorry, Remus shouldn't be sorry, but Sirius can't talk. His chest heaves, shoulder shaking as he’s wracked with sobs, and he feels like he might throw up, like he’s coming apart at the joints. If Remus thought his heart tore in two, then all of Sirius feels like it’s tearing now, like he’s been split open with a jagged thumbnail and left bloody and raw. 

“Sirius.” Remus holds him tighter, his voice high with worry, alarm, but Sirius just shakes his head again. He can't stand the sounds he’s making, the hitching, gasping keen. He doesn't know who he’s crying for: Remus, himself, for their past or for their miserable, _miserable_ fucking present. “I'm so sorry.” 

“St―” Sirius gasps, shaking his head. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry ―” 

“Stop,” he manages, forcing the word out in a wheeze. Remus shouldn't be sorry, shouldn't be apologizing.

“I am, I’m ―” He grabs Sirius's hand, pulls it to his lips. “I can be so fucking horrible to you,” he whispers hoarsely into his skin, kisses his knuckles, the backs of his fingers, and Sirius’s mouth turns down. 

“No, no.” Sirius tries to pull his hand away, because it's the wrong way around, this is backwards. Remus has got it all wrong, but he holds Sirius’s hand tight, keeps his other arm around him and doesn't let him slip free. 

“Everything that’s happened, and none of it’s your fault, and I forget.” Another kiss, another hot tear tracking down Sirius’s cheek. “I forget and then I remember, and then I forget again ―” 

“Moony,” he croaks. 

“I’m so selfish, greedy, with you.” He grips Sirius’s hand, presses his forehead against Sirius’s temple. “I want you, all of you, and I have for so long, and I keep _losing_ you,” he whispers fiercely. “And each time I get you back, I just want you even more, but I don't want,” he licks his lips, rubbing his forehead against Sirius’s, back and forth. “I don't want that fear that you’ll be gone again.” His arms tighten when Sirius tries to pull away, a jolt of guilt rolling inside him. It's absurd, he knows, to feel guilty, ashamed, for what he had no control over, and he tries to let himself relax into Remus's arms. He drops his head back against his shoulder, eyes shut. He feels Remus sigh, almost moan, in relief as he does it, cheek pressed fiercely against his.

Sirius clears his throat, wanting to speak, but there’s still nothing there yet. He feels wrung out, exhausted, his cheeks tacky with salty tears. When Remus kisses his cheek, soft and wet, he exhales on a low sigh, his body relaxing further. He lets Remus pull him with him onto the bed properly. One arm, and then the other, and his jacket is off, Remus pulling it away and letting it fall onto the floor. A whispered spell and his boots are off, tumbling on the floor and then Remus is pulling the covers over him, fully dressed and all. 

_No, you_ , he thinks futilely, as Remus pulls him against his chest. _I should be taking care of **you**_. But Remus’s face is still tired and yet somehow less worn when Sirius glances up at him, the tension in his body seeming lessened. Perhaps talking has alleviated it somewhat, perhaps seeing Sirius react, or perhaps taking care of Sirius has soothed something in Remus, something proprietary and fierce. Sirius shuts his eyes, exhaustion making him sluggish and molasses heavy. 

“It makes me keep you at arm's length. That fear,” Remus mumbles against Sirius’s hair, stroking his cheek. “Keep you at bay, but then I try and keep you close at the same time.” 

Sirius turns his face, now against Remus’s throat. He inhales deeply, the scent familiar, comforting, and he swallows. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, feels Remus’s breath catch. “I never know what I should be doing,” he says, his voice slurred with bone deep exhaustion. “What you want from me. But I love you.” 

“God.” Remus sniffs, holds Sirius tight. “I'm such a fucking idiot,” Sirius hears, as he closes his eyes. Remus’s fingers are long and firm against his, his lips cool and soft as he kisses them again, and Sirius sighs. 

It takes only moments for him to slip into sleep.

***

Half awake and half asleep the morning tickles at Sirius, and somewhere in the space between here and now, alert and at rest, he dreams.

― _He’s fifteen again and his parents don't love him, his baby brother sneers as they pass each other in the school hallways, and every night he grounds himself with the feeling of Remus’s heartbeat underneath his fingertips, his ear against his chest ―_

_― And he’s twenty one, mad with grief and rage, laughing at the remnants of his friend, at the shock of James lying dead amid the baby’s screaming howls, Lily’s bright eyes dull and open in a vacant stare and Remus is gone, won't visit him, will never visit him again, and his soul **aches** ― _

_― and he’s thirty six, the flash of pain so quick he thinks he almost imagines it as the Veil flutters ghostlike against his cheek, swallows him whole. Calm, he feels, the most calm he’s ever been and time is nothing, space, body, heart, gone, and his soul shivers gratefully at the endless, rolling, smothering calm. And then there’s that **tug** , that jerk, and the snap of an invisible ligament he never knew he was tied to as it’s dragging him forwards, upwards. His mind feels like it's being torn over sharp gravel, each pull a bloody, sudden, throbbing wave, but he doesn't fight it, not even when the ground is solid beneath his feet, when he’s lurching under the sudden crash of his mind and body colliding back together ― _

_― and he’s walking, aimlessly at first, following that pull as his soul cowers and whimpers, yearning for something bigger than itself, something stronger, something it’s been tied to for years ― something that's dragging it back, too. He’s walking to Remus’s door._

_And Remus doesn't answer it._

Sirius snaps fully awake with a start, the dreams littering his mind dissolving away as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. He doesn't know what time it is, where he is, the room dark and the sheets warm, familiar and unfamiliar as he stirs against them. And then he feels it ― arms around his waist, hand smoothing over his now bare sides, his hips, and lips against the nape of his neck. Soft and wet, they kiss him, more insistent this time but no less gentle, no less reverent as strong fingers brush his hair aside and settle over his throat. They tighten, release, and Sirius’s own fingers catch on the sheets, palms laying flat against them. They clench into fists as he’s breached, the head of Remus’s cock pushing inside him, in a tight and lube-slick slide.

“Remus,” he gasps, arching his back as Remus slides in deeper still, Sirius’s body opening up easily beneath him, the way it always does, always has done. “Fuck, _Remus_ ,” Sirius moans again, canting his hips further. 

“God, you feel...” Remus hums against his neck, sighs a shaking breath. “I got you.” He pulls out slowly, eases back inside and Sirius _keens_. “It’s okay, I got you,” he says against Sirius’s skin. 

Gentle, Sirius thinks, it feels so gentle and so hard at the same time, and he groans as he realises Remus must have prepared him while he slept, with careful fingers and soothing strokes, and ― _oh, fuck_ ― Sirius groans again. He feels his erection as it presses a hot, hard line against his belly, against the bed beneath him, and he grinds down against it, exhilarated and overwhelmed. 

“God, Sirius, you feel _so_...” Remus sucks at the skin of his neck, rocking into him further, deeper with each slow thrust. His knees press against Sirius’s thighs, one hand on the bed by Sirius’s face, the other tracing shaking, shivering lines over his throat as Sirius tries to breathe evenly, to bring air into his lungs. He feels hot, smothered by the sheets, by the warmth of Remus’s feverish body, and it's too much, too overwhelming, and it’s _perfect_ all at the same time. Sensation after sensation ebbs over his skin, Remus fucking him deeper, harder, but never faster, his teeth resting against Sirius’s neck, there but never biting. 

“Fuck,” Sirius pushing up slightly onto his knees, his torso still flush against the bed. He feels Remus’s bare chest against his back, the coarse brush of hair against skin and his warm breath against the back of Sirius’s neck. His lips curl as he gasps, forehead creasing as he chokes out another sound, the angle bringing Remus’s cock against his prostate. He jerks, the pleasure of it almost overstimulating. He feels Remus’s hand on his stomach, hot and splayed as he growls softly, the sound ending on a groan. 

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“Ah!” Sirius’s knees skid against the sheets. 

“So fucking _much_ , Sirius.” 

Remus mouths overs Sirius’s neck, fingers insistent against Sirius’s skin as his hips pump, his cock pushing deep and hard and Sirius can hear himself, can hear the sounds he’s making. His voice is rough, shaking, as he gasps, pushing himself back as Remus ruts into him. Sirius presses his face into the pillow, feels the material against his tongue, his teeth, and he bites down. Remus’s skin feels overheated, his arms buckling a little as he braces himself over Sirius. The muscles of his stomach, of his thighs, his back, work as he fucks down into him, and Sirius curves his shoulders, cants his hips again and again. Every brush of skin against skin, of Remus’s cock inside him, feels amplified, overwhelming, his body aching for release and singing with the tight of coil of arousal building in his belly, at the base of his spine. 

“Remus, _fuck_ I need ―” He gasps, his cock leaking against the sheets, and Remus groans, deep and guttural. 

“Yes.” Remus runs his lips over his neck again. “I want you to come,” he breathes out in a hoarse and desperate whisper. “Come for me.”

“ _Ah_ , fuck!”

“Come, Sirius.” He feels Remus’s rhythm falter, his balls tight as they press against him and his fingers firm as they grip his cock, stroke him roughly. “Come for me, now.”

Sirius does. He cries out roughly, shuddering as he spills over Remus’s fingers in a hot and toe-curling rush. His cock jerks, the sheets twisting in his grip as he gasps open-mouthed and hot while his orgasm pulses through him. 

“Yes, god, Sir ― _uh_!” 

Remus’s hip bones press against Sirius's arse as he slides in deep one last time, rolling his hips before he’s coming, hot and deep inside him, and Sirius shuts his eyes. In the dark, he feels Remus shudder against him, dropping feverish, biting kisses along his shoulders, his neck, his cheeks. He tips them onto their sides, his arms tight around Sirius’s chest as he gasps, body shaking and Sirius's name tumbling out of his mouth with a litany of other sounds ― mumbled, soft endearments and choked out words Sirius can’t quite grasp. 

“Stay,” Sirius finally hears, as Remus’s body stops trembling, his softening cock still inside Sirius. “Stay, please, stay.”

“Yes.”

“Please stay.”

“ _Yes_.” 

Sirius feels somewhere between happy and confused, safe and warm and unsure of the moment when this will all be swept out from under him again, when the ground will wobble and tremble and everything will turn white. But Remus is still here, he tells himself, and so is he. The sheets are sticky and soiled, cloying against his overheated skin and clinging to his toes and the backs of his knees, and Remus is holding him. Remus is still here, running his face back and forth the over the join of Sirius’s neck, and maybe, Sirius thinks, this will be it. Maybe the ground will stay solid this time. He inhales shakily, wiping at his cheeks and the unnoticed moisture there. Remus sighs behind him, his fingers curving over Sirius’s. 

“I'm here,” he whispers roughly, and Sirius feels his heart sigh, sated and relieved. 

“It's not the wolf. It's me.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Come find me on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)<3


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